


swoon

by slowshow



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Humor, i... love them so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowshow/pseuds/slowshow
Summary: “Canyou whisper?”
Relationships: Zoe Benson/Madison Montgomery
Comments: 11
Kudos: 110





	swoon

**Author's Note:**

> this is a fic challenge i shamelessly took from a brilliant johnlock fic (of which I would gladly mention, if my brain could recall.) hope I’m doing this right; thank you for reading x

_i) to become very excited about someone or something_

They hang out, sometimes. And not in that off-brand let’s-paint-each-other’s-nails way. Madison would never go for that. 

Because Zoe’s all pent-up nerves and last-ditch eyes, stubborn yet meek, like dry-wall in the way it crumbles and clings at the same time.

Then, all of a fucking sudden she’s standing up to Madison—in ways that no one ever has, because no one ever felt it worth doing—chastising her and caring in ways that make her feel too _good_ to not be mistaken for some class A drug.

_ii) a partial or total loss of consciousness_

Prone to dramatics, and mainly because she’s sincerely bored to death of this whole longing thing, Madison acts out.

She lets Kyle fuck her against Zoe’s dresser, steals and hides Zoe’s favorite stupid sweater,—doesn’t dare wear it, just really likes watching her eyes grow desperate— ups everyone’s dosage of her daily wrath in the process.

Zoe doesn’t seem vexed, but she looks more pain-stricken than usual, and Madison thinks if she were someone with more self control she might suggest something other than a threesome.

There’s a nice, neat, little place reserved for the memory of the feel of Zoe’s fingers ( her hair, mouth, teeth) carved out in her psyche.

There’s another entirely for the hazy moment Zoe exhales heavily in her shoulder as she finally comes undone, sighing hotly over and over onto Madison’s skin, so repetitive it starts sounding like some prayer.

_iii) a state of suspended animation_

Her pupils don’t suddenly go heart shaped, Jesus, but she does start experiencing this dull ache in her chest whenever Zoe is around.

She’s kind of begging Madison to ask what’s up, what with the way she’s dragging her knuckles around Robichaux. Kyle is about as dumb as a bag of wet hair; they brought him back for a single intended purpose, as far as she remembers, so she doesn’t exactly get the big deal if this is about him. 

Theres an entire week of Zoe being so awkward it kind of takes over any room that she’s in, which Madison tries _hard_ to ignore. 

Kyle can’t even fathom the angst. Stupid, lucky bastard.

Seriously, they're pretty much in the deep end now, so what is the point of all the tiptoeing fucking really?

So, naturally, Madison takes a hammer to the ice. She speaks up at the dinner table, after Queenie and Nan have already had their plates cleared and joined Cordelia in the living room. Zoe is sat beside her, eyes boring holes into her brimming bowl of soup.

She doesn't expect Zoe to glance furtively in her direction, and ask, “Where’s Kyle?”

Really, she still doesn’t get it, brushes it off, like everything else.

“Probably off, chasing another stray.”

Zoe does make a face then, and when Madison is granted enough time to really look at her, she looks like she hasn’t slept in a decade.

“Do you think his zombie dick, like, fucked with your homeostasis? You know, cause...” Madison shrugs, searchingly. 

Zoe rescues her from finishing her sentence, rolls her eyes.

”My god,” she sighs, setting down her spoon. 

“I mean, is that why you look more like Jeeves than _Jeeves_ does? Maybe having sex with revenants is messing with you. You being alive, and all.”

”Are you asking me if I’m okay, or are you making a joke?”

“I’m... asking.”

Jesus Christ. 

“Then just ask.”

She sounds angry now, ardent, and Madison feels the way her body reacts to that, the warmth spilling over her heart and her lungs and against her rib cage.

Zoe just ripped the breaks out, and there’s no stopping now. Not really.

“Fine,” Madison sighs through her nose, internally screaming, “are you okay?”

The taller witch twists her lips, runs a finger over the narrow of her salad fork.

“I don’t know.”

_iv) a state of bewilderment or ecstasy_

It’s Christmas Eve and it’s snowing and Madison has never cared about the holidays.

You’d think that because they’re _witches_ , and have _powers_ , she could conjure up some Christmas spirit, a modicum of cheer or something she could hold onto to get her through this.

But, like, it doesn’t work that way. Especially for Madison, and when Cordelia announces they’re opening presents, Secret Santa, she flat out wants to hurl.

Zoe has her hair in a festive braid—Misty’s handiwork— and she looks happier, she’s smiling a little more lately. 

Madison thinks about how they haven’t _done_ anything in a month, cringes when she realizes that’s probably why Zoe‘s so sprightly. It couldn’t be the friggin Christmas spirit, because once again: not real.

She doesn’t like to think about the possibility that maybe Zoe felt so wrongly about what they did, that it’s why she started shrinking into herself.

But Zoe’s not like that, right? She would have told Madison to stop. She _wouldn’t_ have kissed her back like that.

She’s thinking pretty solidly about this, when Zoe shifts beside her on the couch, says, “Tell me if you hate it, I kept the receipt.”

She’s referring to the dainty, black box in her hands, offering it up to Madison, who just blinks.

“I didn’t draw your name,” she tells Zoe without any forethought. It comes out way too gentle for her own liking.

Zoe raises an eyebrow, ventures, “That’s not how it works, Madison. Queenie got my gift, I got yours. Nan got Misty... we all get someone something.”

And, _okay._

“I’m not a fucking idiot, I know that.”

Which, she didn’t. She totally wasn’t paying attention when Cordelia explained it, and it’s not like she ever had Christmas traditions growing up in her house. 

Madison regains some of her composure, thin fingers wrapping over the delicate box. When she opens it, the memory of a scene she read for once, floods her mind.

She was sparring with the director at the time, his character had just proposed to hers; it was written that her character’s eyes would water, that she’d go speechless.

So, this is totally not the same, Madison didn’t even get that role, but it’s pretty hard for her to think of anything to say right now, especially when she pulls open the hinge.

It’s a ring, a silver band like one of Misty’s many, only it’s refined, striking, more in Madison’s taste honestly. There’s thin contouring on the side of it.

Barely-there— almost translucent—intricate waves of a flame.

Madison shifts in her tiny party dress, glances up at Zoe, “This a purity ring?”

She’s knows it’s evident in the way her voice has relaxed that she likes it, and Zoe laughs, small, warm.

“Like that would work, for you.”

“Fuck off,” Madison replies. It’s said without an ounce of malice. 

She runs her thumb over the band, feels her heart pulsing in her ears.

“Thanks.”

_v) a state of lowered physiological activity typically characterized by metabolism, heart rate, respiration, and body temperature that occurs in varying degrees_

Since her heart murmur went m.i.a, Madison spends more time doing nothing than she can actually handle.

It’s kind of pathetic but it always gave her something to do, monitoring her heart beat, ticking the boxes and keeping a log in her head.

Now, she’s so bored, she’s willingly having drinks in the kitchen with Queenie in the middle of the night. Because fuck it. New year, same Madison.

They’re each like four shots in when the lines start blurring, and in the low light of the kitchen table, she feels like she’s sort of dreaming.

Especially when she hears Zoe’s lilting voice emanating from the stairwell, spilling into the kitchen. She’s apparently calling them out for drinking Fiona’s shit, even if, in that quiet and revered way she speaks, it doesn’t sound at all like a reprimand.

Madison thinks she’d be a solid mom, because like, you can’t talk back to Zoe and be right at the same time: not when she’s making all the sense, _and_ sounds like that.

Queenie’s laughing hoarsely at this point, which has Madison smiling, albeit lazily, peering up at Zoe from where she’s curled up in her chair.

“She’ll just think she drank it herself,” Madison slurs, blinking back the haze, “ _Zo_.”

Zoe makes a face.

“Yeah, well you guys are fucking loud.”

“ _You’re_ loud!” Madison humphs, tries to stand, — and just— fails.

Zoe’s gets to her, before she falls over and busts her knee against the hardwood or something, and it’s kind of stupidly nice, being deadweight in Zoe’s arms. 

“Y’all...” Queenie snorts, rising in her chair without much fanfare, “I‘m out.”

She’s out of the kitchen too fast for Madison to apprehend, still mumbling something annoyedly as she gets further away, into the hall and up the stairs.

And even if she can’t make out what Queenie’s just said, she knows Zoe sure as hell did because her bright eyes go all deer-in-headlights, again.

Its somehow different, this time, from this close, and Madison shakes away the itch she feels.

“Friggin Bambi,” she mumbles against her.

Zoe’s eyebrows knit together. It’s another look of hers that Madison really likes.

“What?”

“The deer, _hello_.”

“You need water.”

Madison purses her lips in thought. Yeah, probably, she does. But it’s nicer, being here, being held.

When Zoe practically _props_ her up, back in the chair again, she whines. 

“ _Zoe_.”

The taller witch rolls her eyes, strides toward the fridge, pulling out two bottles of water and an orange.

“Here,” she says, taking the vacant seat next to Madison. 

After Madison downs a bottle, she grabs the orange, digs her fingernails under the pith.

Zoe’s still watching her like she’s a child, though. Infuriatingly.

“ _What_?”

“You’re peeling it wrong.”

“I’m getting somewhere, Jesus,” Madison drawls, taking a break and pinching her fingers together to get some of the white out from under her nails.

Zoe’s not having it though, apparently, because soon she’s reaching for the mutilated orange, working on it quickly with deft fingers.

Which— Madison can’t _not_ watch. 

She blushes—totally unintentionally, and thankfully in the near-dark—when she realizes that Zoe’s peeling a fucking orange for her, in the middle of the night, on New Year’s Day.

It’s something that no ones ever done for her, not that she ever like, flat out dreamt of someone peeling her an orange, but it’s still nice.

She suddenly wishes she weren’t so drunk, wants to remember this. 

“Any... any New Years resolutions?” Madison attempts as a segue, taking the orange back from Zoe and observing it thoroughly.

“Oh,” Zoe says, shrinks a bit with it.

“I think just... being better. To myself.”

Madison looks up, haltingly.

“Good.”

The faintest traces of a smile flit across Zoe's drawn features.

“You?”

Madison thinks it over for all of three seconds.

“Same, actually.”

_vi) to enter a state of sudden rapture_

In the event of Nan’s birthday, Cordelia suggests a game of hide and seek. It’s safer than any other game they can play as witches, and they all have to swear to not cheat, and stay within the premises. 

Madison figures if she hides out under the stairs, or someplace just as branded as a hiding spot, like the cellar or something: Nan will find her. It’s stupid to begin with, because she can read all of their minds, but whatever—

She hides in the least obvious spot, _because it’s the most obvious_ : her and Zoe’s closet.

Ten minutes after Nan’s _ready or not_ , Madison’s still unnoticed, resting her head against the closed door and basking in it.

She thinks she’s totally got this game in the bag until she hears the telltale rattle of the door handle above her head:

until she’s essentially yanked from behind as the door swings open.

“ _Fuck_!”

“Madison?” Zoe harsh-whispers.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The blonde urges, eyes fierce, even as she rubs the back of her head.

“Shit,” Zoe murmurs, crouching now, giving Madison’s head a once-over.

“Just— can you-“ Zoe struggles—

Then, she’s pulling Madison up so that she’s sitting again, maneuvering around her and into the confined space, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“She’s coming.”

“Think I’m bleeding.”

“You’re fine, I checked.”

Incredulousness coats Madison’s features.

“Oh, great! Where’d you get your doctorate? What if I’m concussed, Zoe? Did you check that, too?”

“ _Can_ you whisper?” 

Madison rolls her eyes at that. Even if Zoe can’t witness it in the darkness, it’s still necessary. 

She adjusts her body so that she’s using all of the space she’s got to herself—which is practically nothing, Zoe’s legs are thrown over her lap— and sighs deeply.

“This is my hiding spot,” Madison half-whispers, half-peeves.

“Okay, well Nan’s gonna find _both_ of us if you don’t shut up.”

And she seriously can’t believe, out of all the good three hundred places to hide in this god-forsaken mansion, Zoe and her chose the same one.

“Well, pretty damn sure she heard when you knocked my head against the floor.”

The taller witch shakes her head fervently, eyes growing contemplative, and for a minute there it looks like she’s about to punch Madison.

Except—

She’s not punching Madison; she’s leaning into all of the two inches between them, and _kissing_ her.

She’s literally being kissed so that she can shut up, and it’s still never felt this good.

Zoe’s mouth is perfect, agonizingly soft against her own, despite the whole shut the hell up thing she’s trying for right now. Madison can feel the press of her nose to her own cheek and the warmth between them, feels how her heart races, responds, more than it ever did when her heart valve was a diseased, damaged clock. 

This is all so fucking stupid, she thinks, yet—

She wants to. So she does, lead their kiss to somewhere deeper, eagerly pressing into Zoe’s body. Fuck it.

When Madison slips her tongue into Zoe’s mouth, Zoe whimpers in response, makes Madison think she’s actually concussed, hallucinating damn good, now.

Finally.

When Zoe pulls back, like she knew she would, there’s no detectable traces of regret on her face.

In fact, she looks glad, smug, even, like: ‘ _Well, that shut you up_ ’

Madison thinks: ‘ _Yeah, well... it shut you up, too._ ’


End file.
